


Time

by sweetboybucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, kind of, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetboybucky/pseuds/sweetboybucky
Summary: Bucky knew something was off the moment he met Steve. He knew a boy wasn’t supposed to cloud his thoughts so much. Take up so much room in his heart.So why couldn’t he stop imagining having Steve’s soft skin under his fingers?(OR: Times have certainly changed. Bucky knows that better than most.)





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> So, this is my first post on AO3. I have a Tumblr account with the rest of my works (you can find the link to that on my profile) and I will slowly add all of my fics to this site. 
> 
> I don't really know where this fic came from, but here it is. So, enjoy! 
> 
> \- Rae

Bucky had trouble remembering a time before he knew Steve.

After so many years of being friends with the guy, he assumed that was normal. But in the rare moments he did recall a day before he knew his best friend, he always felt like it was a different life. A different Bucky on some other planet. And he always felt a little cheated, too. Because there was something about Steve that lit up his world like nothing else had. He wondered why he wasn’t allowed to find that light sooner.

He looked at Steve from where he laid next to him in the apartment. Watched him turn over and face him, hair falling into his eyes. He kept his gaze on him as he fought the urge to brush the short strands from his face. Let his fingers linger on Steve’s skin and push himself closer.

It had been so long since they’d spent a night that way. When they had been kids. Before they’d grown into adults and faced the cold world around them. And Bucky had felt the same way then. He’d always felt the same way about Steve.

“Something wrong?” Steve asked. Bucky shook his head. Pulled away enough to keep himself from seeing the tiny bit of green in the blue irises in front of him.

“No,” Bucky answered, turning so he laid on his back. “I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t question him, much to Bucky’s relief. He only settled back down into the lumpy couch cushions and pulled his blanket tighter around himself. And Bucky tried to keep Steve from noticing he was watching all of it out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky knew something was off the moment he met Steve. He knew a boy wasn’t supposed to cloud his thoughts so much. Take up so much room in his heart. 

So why couldn’t he stop imagining having Steve’s soft skin under his fingers?

“Steve?” The name left his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, Buck?”

His heart thumped in his chest at the sound of his name in Steve’s mouth. He wanted so badly to hear it again. To steal it from his friend’s lips and make sure it was the only word he could remember before he was done with him.

But he couldn’t do that. Not ever.

So he rolled over instead. Turned his back to Steve and squeezed his eyes closed. Tried to push away the image of Steve’s beautiful face stuck in his mind.

“Nevermind,” he said, brushing Steve off.

He didn’t know what he would have said, anyway.

***

Bucky wakes to lips on him.

On his arm and shoulder. That spot just in the middle of his back. His neck and hair and the skin just below his ear. A nose nuzzles there, breathes a sigh against him, the sound pulling him from his dreamless sleep.

He groans when bright moonlight meets his vision as he cracks an eye open. A groan leaves his lips and he pushes his face further into the pillow. Grabs the arm over his waist and pulls it tighter around his body. The chest against his back shakes with laughter.

Bucky can feel the cool air of dawn on his skin. He knows that it has to be the middle of the night, based on the still dark sky hanging above their heads. And he has no idea why Steve is awake so late.

But he opens his eyes anyway. Supposes there are worse lives to wake up to.

Metal and flesh reach over his head as he stretches his stiff muscles. Toes flex and his back pops and a chuckle brushes against his ear. Eyelashes flutter along the skin of his temple.

“Hey,” Bucky rasps, turning onto his back to look at Steve. He’s met with a warm smile. Wide and beautiful blue eyes. It makes the worry that had settled in his chest fade. But he still asks, “You okay?”

Steve hums. Pushes his nose into Bucky’s cheek and runs a hand through dark hair. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You’re just really pretty.”

Bucky chuckles. His chest feels light as he leans in and presses a sleepy kiss to Steve’s jaw.

“I’ll still be pretty in the morning,” he murmurs, turning back over and settling into the mattress. Sighing when Steve presses himself to his back again, kisses his shoulder. “Get some sleep. Quit waking me up.”

Steve laughs. Presses another kiss to Bucky’s neck and lets his lips flutter against his skin. “You’ve got it, Sergeant.”

***

He could feel eyes on him.

Blue eyes. Gorgeous, cerulean irises he would have been happy to drown in. He squirmed under their gaze. Secretly hoped they wouldn’t leave his face. But also knew they should. Knew he wasn’t supposed to like the idea of them searching his form so much.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not looking up from his book. When he didn’t get an answer, he spared a glance at the man across from him. Saw his head turned down and a blush dusting his cheeks. Fingers brushing blond hair out of his face.

“Nothing,” Steve said. He turned back to his sketchbook. Moved the pencil across the paper again. Bucky looked at him for a moment. Reveled in the warmth spreading through his chest.

As soon as he went back to reading, he could feel the eyes on him again.

He didn’t say anything, though.

***

“Bucky.”

“Steve.”

“Are you gonna keep staring or do some training of your own?”

Bucky chuckles. Runs a hand through his hair and keeps his eyes on Steve. Watches the way the muscles in his arms move as he does push-ups on the ground.

“I’ve got a pretty nice view here,” Bucky tells him, setting his weights down and planting himself next to Steve. “So I think I’m good.”

Steve chuckles. Turns his head and smiles at Bucky.

“Fine,” Steve sighs. He sticks a hand out. Shoves Bucky halfheartedly and holds his body up with the other. “Do what you want.”

Bucky leans forward and kisses the side of Steve’s head. Wonders what he did to deserve his soldier.

***

He’d seen it plenty of times before.

Bruising along his cheekbone. Bloodied knuckles and a split lip. A broken nose - maybe a few ribs.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d had to drag a battered Steve out of some back alley. How many times he’d caught his friend picking a fight with someone twice his size. Someone who could probably kill him, if they wanted to.

But he’d always gotten there earlier.

He let Steve slump against him until they got to the apartment. Until he could sit him on a dining room chair and dig around for any medical supplies they had. Which would have been a lot easier if his hands weren’t shaking and his mind wasn’t buzzing and his mouth wasn’t running.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he spat, turning back to glance at Steve. His chest felt tight when he saw his friend holding his jaw, ocean eyes closed. Cut off from his view. What he wouldn’t have given to see those eyes - they always helped him calm down.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve argued, voice quiet and a hiss of pain coming through his clenched teeth. Bucky was there in an instant, helping Steve sit up straight so he could clean the cuts on his face.

Bucky sighed once Steve’s eyes opened. Once they searched his face.

He pressed a rag to the particularly large cut on Steve’s forehead, whispered, “You’re not fine.” He huffed out an annoyed breath. “You’re bleeding all over the floor and you can barely breathe. I bet your ribs are bruised. You know I can’t fix that -”

And then a hand was on his cheek.

Small and shaking. Cold. The fingers splayed out across his face and the heel settled right over his jaw. His eyes snapped up from where his hand rested on Steve’s arm to his face. To the blue eyes locked on his face.

He couldn’t breathe. Bucky couldn’t breathe.

“I’m fine,” Steve repeated, his fingers moving against the skin under Bucky’s eye. “Really,” he stressed. “I’m okay. I always am.”

Bucky drew in a shaky inhale, somehow, his heart hammering in his chest for a few reasons.

“I should’ve gotten there earlier -”

“Stop,” Steve cut him off. “You were there. A little late, sure.” Bucky chuckled, let his eyes slip shut and his head fall a little. “But you were there. You always are.”

He was suddenly acutely aware of how close he was to Steve. How much he didn’t want to pull away.

But he did. He stepped back and turned. Tried to hide the blush on his cheeks and calm his racing mind. Because Steve couldn’t have meant that touch in the way Bucky wanted him to. He knew that.

“Punk,” Bucky said, turning back to Steve. Catching that little look of - of something Bucky couldn’t quite decipher on his face.

“Jerk,” Steve replied, a small smile turning up his lips.

Bucky turned away again. Bit his lip and touched a few fingers to his cheek.

He could still feel Steve’s hand on him.

***

“You just like getting beaten up, huh?”

Steve laughs. Looks at Bucky from where he rests against the bathroom counter and kisses the fingers cleaning his split lip.

“Always have,” Steve says. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Least I can take it now. Don’t need you to save me all the time.”

Bucky leans in, kisses his way up Steve’s neck to his cheek. Takes his gorgeous face in his hands and brushes their noses together.

“Well,” Bucky whispers, “if you ever do need saving, I’ll be there.”

Steve smiles at him. Wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him into his chest. Kisses the top of his head.

“I know. You always are.”

***

Things were changing.

A brush of fingers here. A hand on a shoulder there. Staying up much too late and sitting much too close.

Bucky was thrilled that things were taking a turn. That maybe he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt the way he did for all those years. That maybe Steve had been glancing at him from the corner of his eye and imaging the way Bucky would feel, too.

But he couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure that the meaning behind Steve’s touches was what he hoped for.

He let himself hope, anyway.

Bucky knew what it would mean for them if Steve felt the same way. He knew that nothing could ever be the same - that was terrifying.

He knew what would happen if someone caught them. If someone found out that their hugs weren’t so platonic anymore. If someone heard the shift in their tones around each other, the soft words they said when no one else was around. He understood that they would be done for.

But Steve’s hand felt too good in his own to stop.

***

Steve is much softer than expected.

Tight, coiled muscled under pale skin wouldn’t be described as soft, in most cases. And Bucky had thought the same thing when he’d first seen the new Steve. The Steve that’s solid instead of bony.

Bucky had been surprised the first time he held Steve after the serum. And it had been even more foreign once they’d both woken up in a different time. When they were both lined with strength and could hold each other with no fear.

He rests against Steve now, the yellow light of a lamp painting their skin. A kiss is placed on Steve’s bare chest. Then his collarbone. Then his neck. Bucky tilts his head against his shoulder so he can look up at his soldier’s beautiful smile.

“What are you doing?” he asks him. And Bucky just smiles.

“Nothing. Just loving you.”

Steve kisses him, runs his fingers through dark hair.

Bucky wishes the moment could last forever.

***

Steve being sick wasn’t new.

Bucky sitting next to him - where he laid on the couch - as he shivered under the pile of blankets was nothing he hadn’t done before. He’d known to keep a garbage can near Steve, in case his stomach decided to bother him. To press a cool, damp rag to his forehead when his temperature wouldn’t drop.

He’d never liked seeing his friend like that, but something about it felt different than all of the other times. And watching as Steve coughed, the sound ugly and strained, made his heart hurt for the guy.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked him, voice quiet and careful. He was sure Steve had a headache along with all of the other symptoms and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Steve shook his head just a little. Enough for Bucky to recognize the gesture. But he didn’t say anything, and Bucky could only assume it was because his throat hurt, too.

He wanted Steve to be better. He wished that he wasn’t so frail. That his body didn’t fail him so much. He wished Steve could focus on things that he enjoyed instead of being so preoccupied with the illnesses that frequently plagued him.

“Hey, Bucky?”

He looked upon hearing his name. Noticed then that his gaze had been fixed on his wringing hands. He leaned a little closer to Steve. Watched as the blond took a deep breath and turned his head to look at him.

“Can I -” Steve cut himself off. Shut his eyes tight and sucked in a deep breath.

“Can you what?” Bucky pressed. His voice was desperate and thin. He wanted to help Steve in any way he could.

“Will you let me -” another pause, another deep breath as wide azure eyes blinked open and looked at Bucky. “Can I rest my head in your lap?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide.

He tried to remind himself how to draw air into his lungs. Willed his heart to slow its beating in fear that it would crack one of his ribs with its rhythm. Because he had his answer then. The meaning behind all of their little gestures.

Steve felt the same way. He had to.

Bucky nodded at him, face flushing and hands shaking as he stood, so eager to accept the offer he didn’t have time to overthink it. He helped Steve to sit up. Moved the pillow his head had been on and sat there instead. And Steve leaned back. Turned and laid his cheek on Bucky’s thigh.

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He only knew that he had been dreaming to touch Steve, to be close to him, for much too long. He only knew that he wanted to settle his hand in Steve’s hair. Curl his fingers around the strands.

So he did.

He had expected his touch to be rejected. For Steve to ask him what he was doing. Tell him to get his hands off of him and leave altogether.

But Steve didn’t do any of that. He just hummed at the feeling of Bucky’s hand in his hair. Pushed his head into Bucky’s palm and closed his eyes. Nuzzled his cheek against the thigh under him.

It only took a few minutes for Steve to fall asleep that way. And Bucky just stared at him. Watched as the evening light filtered through the window and danced over his pale skin. Settled another hand at his shoulder and rubbed circles there with his thumb.

He knew that it wasn’t normal. He knew that on the off-chance someone caught them that it would only put a larger target on Steve’s back. But he didn’t move him. And he wasn’t planning on getting up anytime soon.

He couldn’t really bring himself to care about anything that didn’t have Steve’s eyes.

***

He’s awake.

Bucky listens from his place on the living room couch as the bed creaks a little. He can picture Steve’s hand sweeping across the mattress as he looks for him. The small sigh he hears makes his breath hitch and guilt crawl into his heart.

He closes his eyes and curls in on himself. Tries to become as small as he can on the soft cushions of the couch. Hides his face in the pillow under his head and readies the apology he’ll give Steve when he walks in and finds him.

Because he’s sorry. So sorry that he keeps doing this.

Feet pad into the room. Careful and quiet. Bucky can hear Steve’s relieved exhale and he shivers a little at the sound. Keeps himself still when all he wants to do is run his hands over Steve’s bare chest and press his lips to his face.

He doesn’t deserve that right now. Not when he left bed for a reason he can’t quite determine and made Steve worry about him enough to get up. So he keeps his eyes closed, his mouth shut.

A body settles on the floor beside the couch. Warm fingers trace over his brow and down the curve of his nose before a palm rests against his cheek.

He wants to lean into the touch. To kiss Steve’s palm and pull him onto the couch and bury his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. But he holds himself back. Reminds himself that he’s the reason Steve loses the sleep he should be getting.

“Buck,” Steve says, voice whisper soft, the words breathed against Bucky’s forehead. “Talk to me.”

The quiet request surprises him. Makes him wonder how he got so lucky. And he wants to indulge Steve, tell him about everything that’s plaguing him. But he doesn't know how. So instead, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Warm fingers tap his shoulder, motion for him to sit up. He does, feeling like he doesn’t deserve to argue with anything Steve tells him to do right now. But he’s not expecting Steve to take a seat where Bucky’s head had been on the couch. To guide Bucky down until his head rests on Steve’s lap.

Fingers thread through long, dark hair. A hum leaves the soldier’s lips as Steve combs the knots out of the strands. Bucky turns onto his other side to face him. Nuzzles his nose against Steve’s abdomen and smiles when he feels lips touch his temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too, Buck,” Steve answers.

He feels like he can finally get some sleep.

***

The sketchbook was nearly falling apart.

Bucky had found it one day when he was out. Had thought of Steve upon glancing at the clean pages and pencil that came with it. Spent a good chunk of money getting it. And when Steve had argued, said it was too much, he’d pushed it back into his hands.

He had watched Steve draw in it more times than he could count. Liked to see when he got really concentrated on the picture in front of him - his tongue would always poke out of his mouth just a little. It took everything in Bucky to keep from finally kissing him when he did that.

Steve sat on the couch, knees tucked up underneath him and the sketchbook resting on them. Bucky lounged near the window. Felt the warm, midday air hit his skin and looked on as the pencil moved along the page. Listened to the subtle scratching of it.

Why he was sitting so far away from Steve was a mystery to him. He’d watched as his friend had walked into the room. Planted himself a good five feet away from where Bucky was.

He had to admit to being a little hurt. Bucky didn’t know why Steve hadn’t joined him on the floor like he’d been doing for weeks. He only knew that he missed the feeling of their knees and shoulders pressing together.

But he didn’t say anything about it. Only stared at Steve as he drew something Bucky couldn’t see. Formed the words, “What are you drawing?”

It took Steve a moment to register the question. He tore his eyes from the book on his lap and cut them to Bucky. A pretty blush covered his cheeks - one that took Bucky’s breath away because it was unfair that anyone was allowed to be so beautiful.

And in a quiet voice, he answered, “You.”

That was it.

Bucky was standing and crossing the room in seconds. Moving the sketchbook to the coffee table and sitting down next to Steve. Pulling him into his arms and running his hands through soft blond hair and finally -  _ finally  _ \- pressing his lips to Steve’s.

He had somewhat prepared himself for rejection, as he always did with Steve. For hands to press to his chest and push him away. For beautiful, beautiful lips to leave his and spit words that would cut his heart in half.

But he got none of that. Instead, there was only Steve, wrapping his arms around Bucky and pushing himself impossibly closer. It made him wonder why he had ever doubted the amazing man in front of him.

It was everything he had imagined. And it also wasn’t, because he hadn’t thought that kissing Steve would feel so right. Natural. Like he was born to taste Steve’s mouth and like Steve was born to taste his.

That fact had to be true, Bucky thought, as he pulled Steve into his lap. He was certain nothing would ever feel as right as that.

***

Steve’s breath is gasoline and his touch is an open flame.

They both cover Bucky’s body. Lay waste to his skin. Set alight the small embers within him, turn it into a roaring fire that he hopes Steve can feel as he hovers over him.

Bucky lies back, allows Steve’s lips to tear him apart and sew him back together as they leave a trail of open mouthed kisses down his body. Settle on the spot Bucky wants them to be on most. And all he can do is whimper. Buck his hips up and meet Steve halfway. Dig his fingers into blond hair and hold him there.

Each time they’re together, Bucky can still feel that heat. He can still melt just as easily under Steve’s touch as the first time. Every swipe of Steve’s tongue against his skin, every snap of his hips, every breath they share. It all makes Bucky feel that fire in his veins.

Bucky doesn’t mind. He’ll take heat over the cold any day.

***

“You use those moves on the ladies?”

Steve’s voice was quiet. Muffled against Bucky’s chest. The question made laughter leave his lips. He could feel Steve’s smile against his skin.

“No,” Bucky answered, pulling back enough to look into pretty blue eyes. “There were never any ladies. Not really. There was only you.”

Long eyelashes met the skin under Steve’s eyes as he looked down, a bashful grin painting his lips. It only made Bucky smile more. Curl his arm around Steve’s back and pull him closer. Bury his nose in pretty blond hair and place a kiss on his head.

For a long moment, they were quiet. They let their bodies fully recover. Bucky watched Steve carefully, worried he’d hurt him. And when Steve caught him staring, he just shook his head a little. Leaned up and kissed Bucky’s chin.

Soon enough, the moment was over. It didn’t take long for the fear to set in.

“What are we gonna do?” Steve asked, leaning back and looking up. Bucky had never felt so exposed - Steve’s eyes on him made him feel naked even when he had clothes on, and now he didn’t.

Bucky brushed some hair out of Steve’s eyes. Smirked. Tried to channel his vulnerability into something else. Closed his eyes and whispered against Steve’s skin, “I have some ideas. We don’t need clothes for any of them.”  

Steve poked his chest. Bucky opened his eyes. Glanced down and found Steve looking at him, his eyebrows raised. A look on his face that said  _ please be serious _ . And Bucky gave him a look back that said  _ please let us have one happy moment _ .

But he knew they couldn’t have a moment. Not ever again.

“We’ll do whatever we want,” Bucky sighed. “Whatever  _ you  _ want.”

A painfully long minute passed them. Steve said nothing in that time, only looked at Bucky and traced his finger up his arm. Bucky’s heart felt tight in his chest. He didn’t want to think about leaving the moment they had created. He didn’t want to think about Steve changing his mind - even after they’d been together. Really together.

“Can we just stay here?” Steve asked. “Worry about the details tomorrow?”

Bucky smiled, soft and gentle. He kissed Steve’s forehead, then his brow and the bridge of his nose. Affection bloomed within him at the happy sound that left Steve’s lips.

“Of course,” he said, tucking Steve’s head under his chin, settling one hand in his hair and the other on his back. “Let’s just sleep.”

Neither of them slept at all that night.

There was too much to be afraid of.

***

Bucky is sure there isn’t anything better than this.

Steve stands at the stove, his favorite pajama pants resting low on his hips and his torso bare. Bucky can hear something sizzling - bacon, he thinks - but he’s too caught up with looking at his beautiful, beautiful soldier.

The muscles in his body are prominent. Large and strong. And all Bucky wants to do is feel them. Run his hands over them and watch the way Steve shivers under his touch.

So he does.

He sneaks up behind him. Lets his arms fall around Steve’s waist and laughs when the man jumps. Nuzzles his face in the back of Steve’s neck and lets his fingers trail over the smooth skin of his abdomen.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve whispers, taking one of Bucky’s hands - the metal one - in his own and bringing it to his lips. He kisses the knuckles. Warmth blooms in Bucky’s chest.

“Morning, Steve,” Bucky says.

“You hungry?”

“Very. But not for food.”

“How  _ sinful _ of you, Barnes,” Steve chides, reaching a hand behind him to poke Bucky’s side. He squirms away from Steve’s fingers. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to take me on a proper date before making such statements?”

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” Bucky tells him, moving to sit at the table so he can look at Steve. “Don’t know why I ever thought I would wake up before you.”

Steve turns his head to look at him. Smiles, small and soft. “It’s alright. You can owe me.”

***

He was angry.

Even as Steve slept on his chest. Let out little sighs every now and then against his skin. He was angry. So, so angry.

He tried to keep his eyes on Steve’s face. Tried to keep his brows from furrowing and his fist from balling up where it rested on the sheets. He put his hand on Steve’s back instead. Tried to ground himself by touching more of his skin.

It didn’t work. Not really.

Bucky hated this - well, sort of.

He hated the hiding. The sneaking around. Stealing kisses in alleys and praying no one would notice their hands wandering a little too much under the table at a restaurant. Speaking in quiet voices and his hand itching to hold Steve’s as they walked down the street.

It was unfair that he couldn’t give Steve everything he deserved. He couldn’t take him to Coney Island, win him a giant teddy bear and carry it home for him. He couldn’t give Steve the promise of a ring. Of a house and a family. Hell, he couldn’t even look at Steve for too long in public.

He wasn’t even sure if Steve wanted any of that - they’d never really talked about the future. But he deserved the world. Bucky was sure of that.

Steve had told him before, let him know that he wasn’t expecting anything. That he was okay with what they were able to have - a lovely relationship that only existed behind closed doors.

Well, that wasn’t true. Bucky always loved Steve.

Every minute of every day.

***

Bucky has trouble remembering a time without Steve.

His mind knows many versions of the soldier by now. His memories can span back to the small, feisty guy he fell in love with. The one who got beat up in back alleys. He can conjure up the Steve he knew right after the serum, too. The one who saved him from that POW camp. The one that was ready to give his life to save so many others.

But the one in front of him - that’s the Steve he knows better than the rest.

The softer one. The Steve that’s been shaped by years of holding so many lives in the palm of his hand. The Steve that had to wake up one day and start over and - God, thinking about that makes Bucky’s heart hurt so bad.

He watches him now. Smiles when thick eyebrows draw down, when blue eyes narrow at the book in his hands. Bucky just lets his hand fall onto Steve’s leg as the appendage rests over his lap, his palm feeling the soft fabric of his flannel pajama pants.

Bucky would be lying if he said he doesn’t wish he could go back in time. Change their lives. Have the Steve he’d known back then. The one that didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. The one he’d been able to protect.

But he wouldn’t have been able to have Steve back then. Not the way he wants him.

“Something wrong, Buck?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, eyes settling on his Captain’s handsome face. And he smiles a little, grabbing one of his hands and kissing the palm. Reveling in the fact that he can do things like that so freely, now.

“No,” Bucky answers, lips finding Steve’s neck. “Absolutely nothing is wrong.”

For once, he means it.

Sure, he and Steve woke up in a different century. They’ve seen things they would rather forget. Collected more scars than they can count and work so hard to heal the wounds that are still open.

But as time moves forward, so do they.

Bucky knows that now.

***

“Someday it won’t matter, right? We’ll be able to go out and just - just  _ be _ . We won’t have to be scared. Maybe someday no one will care.”

“Yeah, Steve. Maybe someday.”


End file.
